


Chiaroscuro

by sidewinder



Series: The Spaces in Between [6]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Episode Related, Episode s06e07: Charisma, Friendship, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A contrast between the light and the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chiaroscuro

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Froday Flash Fiction Challenge (fffc) #16.02: Canvas. Characters property of NBC/Dick Wolf. This story was written purely for fun and not for profit.

From his vantage point on the precinct rooftop, John took in the view of Manhattan spread out in all her evening glitz and glamor. At night she was a canvas of tall buildings lit up in all shades and hues of color, the stars above obscured by her man-made luminosity. Even someone as jaded as he had to pause to appreciate the sight from time to time. Night and distance did a fine job of obscuring the city’s filth, the darkness within that never slept and was all too visible under the harsh light of day.

The wind kicked up momentarily, the chilly late October air cutting through the fabric of his suit and reminding him not to forget his coat before heading home. But the cold at least reminded him that he hadn’t grown completely numb inside; he could still feel something other than disgust at his fellow mankind and sorrow for those he loved who were suffering.

He worried tonight for Fin, who’d put himself on a week’s leave after meeting with Dr. Huang in the morning. John had tried to talk to his partner, on his way out of the 16th, but Fin had only insisted he needed some time to himself to “sort things out”. Now Fin wasn’t answering his phone when John tried to call. He hadn’t returned John’s voice mail asking if he wanted company tonight as he prepared to go off shift himself, which he could only take as an indisputable “no”.

That was one of the frustrating things about Fin which John still had trouble trying to break through: when he was hurt, he shut everyone out. He turned away those who wanted to help him, the people who were willing to offer comfort and support. And John knew by now how it would all play from here: Fin would stay completely out of contact for a few days, get angry if John tried to force the matter. Yet at some point over the weekend Fin would show up at his apartment with conversation the last thing on his mind...and John would oblige his other desires gladly.

But for now, John found himself on the rooftop, needing the space to clear his own mind before quitting the day, only to return tomorrow to the job that needed him, the case that had hit them all just a little too hard.

He heard the fire door creak open and then click shut loudly, a quick glance around confirming who he suspected had followed him here. He didn’t mind the company, as they were both in a similar predicament on this night.

“You talk to Elliot?” he asked as Olivia came over to join him at the railing.

“No. His cell is off. I’m not going to call his house. You talk to Fin?”

“Fin is in full recluse mode. Even if he were standing right where you are, I don’t think I could get him to talk to me. Seems as though you and I are the last ones standing this week, ’Liv.”

“I don’t get it. I had a full breakdown in front of Huang. I was sure I’d be the one sent home today.”

“You got it out of your system. Proved you were still in touch with your humanity enough to have a natural reaction to something too horrible for most people to ever even contemplate, let alone have to witness with their own eyes.”

_The gunfire. The knowledge they were too late. Entering the dark, silent building and finding no one remaining but the dead. The children, all dead, blood spreading in pools all around them, brilliant red splattered on the clothes and their stuffed animal toys..._

“And you?”

He breathed in deeply, then tried to exhale the images from his mind along with the cold air from his lungs. “I don’t trust any of these shrinks. Never have. I’ll play their game to an extent, give them what I think they want to hear. Just enough to satisfy their needs to clinically diagnose me with something, but nothing not _too_ serious, before sending me back on my merry way.”

“That’s cynical even for you, John.”

“Ah, but according to Dr. Huang my cynicism is all just an act, anyway. A cover to protect myself from admitting how much crimes like these still bother me.”

Olivia gave him a knowing look. “And you’re telling me he’s wrong about that?”

John shrugged. “Even a stopped clock is right twice a day. But I wonder how they think they can predict who’s ripe for going over the edge, and who has it together enough to not eat his gun. These psyche evals, most of the time they’re just a joke, you know? Or they create more of a mess than they solve. Look at what happened with Jeffries.” Of course, if Monique hadn’t been put on desk duty he might never have ended up with Fin as a partner—and whatever else this was that they’d become to each other off the job.

“Let me tell you a little story. When I was in Homicide back in Baltimore, this was something like ten, twelve years ago...they made us go through so-called ‘sensitivity training’ this one time, individually with a therapist, then group sessions.” He snorted. “Nothing but an excuse for upper brass to send someone in to poke around our heads, see how well-adjusted or not we were given all the time we spent hanging around dead bodies. Typical bureaucratic bullshit that made for nice PR for a department under a lot of pressure.

“Later that year, my partner and I get a call. Body in the bay. Routine, right? Sure. Looks like a suicide, lots of them always turning up in the water. Then it turns out, we both know the guy. He was one of our own, same shift, someone we’d been working with for years. No one knew he was suicidal; not _one_ of us had a clue.”

He remembered back on that other time in another city, a conversation on another rooftop. The bleak canvas of Baltimore around them, grey and old, as worn and tired as they had all felt that afternoon. Standing up there with Gee and Stanley as they tried to talk to Lewis about his partner, Lewis pleading that they had to be wrong. Crosetti wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. “Not even his partner had any idea that he was that far down. Didn’t want to believe it. He had us working overtime trying to prove it was a murder and not a suicide, but...” John shook his head. “Once we had the tox report from the M.E. there was no denying the truth. Something had pushed him over the edge, but what was it, the job? His divorce? A crisis of faith?” All the same things all of them had been through, and only Steve had cracked. Taken his life without warning, without leaving a note to explain any of it.

Then again, neither had John’s own father.

But that wasn’t a road he was willing to travel down yet, not with Olivia, not with Fin, only ever with one other person who he knew understood and had helped him finally begin to deal with that pain, and she’d been no therapist in title nor degree.

“You see, ’Liv? You just don’t know. And if you can’t see it when your own partner is ready to off himself, how is some shrink who barely knows him going to see it?”

“You aren’t suggesting...”

“What, that one of us...? All I’m saying is you never know. The real warning signs are rarely obvious, not until long after the fact.” He sighed, the city before them somehow no longer looking as bright and magical as she had minutes before. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring you down when we’re already too deep into murky waters this week.”

“It’s all right. If you don’t trust a therapist, you know you can always bend my ear.”

“And that goes both ways, you know.”

“I know.”

“You eat anything today?” he asked.

“No, why?”

“Skylight’s always open. Let me buy you dinner. Or breakfast. Whatever’s more appropriate for this time of night, and for enduring John Munch's rants du jour.”

Olivia smiled and reached up to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Okay, But I might skip breakfast and dinner and go straight for dessert. I can never resist their cheesecake.”

“Nothing wrong with a little midnight cheesecake between two consenting adults. C’mon, let me get my coat and let’s get out of here.” The city and her sorrows would still be there in the morning, so he turned his back on her canvas of glittering beauty for the comfort of friendship and understanding.


End file.
